


Father and Flame

by xensilverquill



Series: Shade and Shell [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, THK Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xensilverquill/pseuds/xensilverquill
Summary: "I have been beaten, abandoned, and broken, and I shall never be whole again. Yet I have done and been all of these things -- and I havelived."Hollow has been freed, Ghost has returned, and the siblings have begun a new life for themselves in Dirtmouth. Yet, night after night, the past continues to haunt Hollow's dreams. The time has come to face themself -- with a little help from an unexpected and nightmarish corner.
Relationships: Grimm/The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel, Nailsmith/Nailmaster Sheo (Hollow Knight), Relic Seeker Lemm/Quirrel (Hollow Knight), The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Grimmchild, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Hornet, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Knight
Series: Shade and Shell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966042
Comments: 123
Kudos: 259





	1. Lessons and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on for the siblings, but not all is well with Hollow as a mysterious visitor appears in their dreams that night.

_I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this. Not this time..._

Ghost cast a resigned mournful look up at their sibling as their doom truly began to sink in. Everything in the hunching of their shoulders and the shadows of their face said that this was it, that this was the end.

_If… If you make it and I don’t, will you take care of Grimmy for me?_

Hollow gently laid their hand between Ghost’s horns and nodded solemnly.

_Of course, little one, of course. Even if it is the last thing I do, I will see it done. I promise._

“If you two are quite finished with your dramatics,” came the voice of their captor and torture-master, like a crack of doom, “shall we return to the lesson?”

Hollow sighed quietly as they slumped in the chair that was entirely too small for their tall and lanky frame. Ghost’s head pitched forward to _thunk_ audibly on the shellwood desk the two of them sat behind. Hornet stood in front of them, arms crossed and foot tapping as she waited for their attention to return to her.

“As I was saying, this is the sign for ‘to drink.’” Loosely curving her right hand into a crescent, she slowly brought it up to her face. She repeated this gesture several times for her siblings, slowly the first few times and then moving more swiftly with the motion.

“The simplest way to remember this is to think of your hand as the cup,” she explained before nodding at them. “Now you try.”

Hollow went first. They copied their sister, a bit stiffly at first but getting the general idea of the sign. 

“Keep your eyes on the person to whom you are speaking,” she reminded them. Reaching over, she carefully molded Hollow’s fingers so that they were more in line with one another. Hornet gestured at them to continue. “And keep your thumb separated from the rest of your fingers. Yes, good, good.”

Hollow’s eyes narrowed in delight at the praise. They repeated the gesture a few more times. When she was satisfied with their progress, she nodded and turned to Ghost.

“Now you,” she instructed, repeating the sign to prompt them.

Ghost mirrored their siblings. Or at least tried to, the successful execution of which was questionable.

“N-No, Ghost,” she said, sounding like she was caught somewhere between a repressed laugh and an exasperated sigh. “You just signed that you wanted a drink -- specifically spirits.”

 _“Why would I wanna eat a spirit?”_ Ghost signed, tilting their head at Hornet. Before she could reply, however, they went on, hands moving rapidly. _“Okay, so I_ accidentally _poofed that spirit over in the graveyard one time, but that was because I was still figuring out how my Dream Nail works. He didn’t even taste that good! Kinda like dirt and sadness. And old socks.”_

Hollow and Hornet stared at their little sibling for a moment. The silence stretched on for a minute, then another. Ghost began to fidget in their seat. They tilted their head to one side and held out their hands, palm up -- _“What?”_

“That is not-- I--” Hornet shook her head. She took Ghost’s hands between her own before they could continue. “Nevermind. I think that is enough for one day, and I may be in need for a drink of spirits myself.”

 _I still don’t know what that means!_ Ghost groused to Hollow along the Void-borne connection they shared. 

_I will explain later_ , Hollow soothed as they lifted their little sibling up to sit on their shoulder. _Until then, however, I think it would not hurt to practice a little more outside our lessons. Unless you have reconsidered taking Quirrel up on his offer of remedial lessons?_

The single-fingered gesture Ghost sent their way at that told Hollow that, no, they were most certainly not considering the offer and Hollow could mind their own business thank-you-very-much.

“School sucks!” came a shrill, raspy voice from the window. “School sucks!”

Grimmchild lay draped over the windowsill. Smoke dribbled like so much drool at the corners of his toothy mouth. His wings batted impatiently at the wall and his whole little body wiggled like an excited grub. He was “not much more than a grub himself,” as Hornet liked to remind them. In Hollow’s opinion, he was “quite capable of taking care of himself,” and all Ghost ever had to add was “he can do what he wants.”

“And the prodigal son returns,” Hornet announced flatly. Reaching into her cloak, she produced a small pile of ash and held her palm out in his general direction. Grimmchild’s body was a black-and-cerise blur as he shot across the room from the window. Much excited chirring and nyah-ing ensued as he licked at the ashes, a favorite treat.

“Hello to you too, Grimmchild,” she said as she rubbed a finger between his horns. “Judging by the lack of smoke and screaming outside, I take it you did _not_ commit arson while we were otherwise distracted?”

“Burn!” he squeaked between licks. “Burn!”

“As comforting an answer as ever,” Hornet sighed. 

When he had finished eating, she sent him flying away with a flick of her arm. Grimmchild fluttered over to perch between Ghost’s horns. Ghost, in turn, had shifted and taken a seat between Hollow’s own horns. It was a common configuration for the three of them these days. Moreover, it was still something of a marvel to Hornet and the rest of Dirtmouth’s residents that Hollow had not yet developed chronic and irreversible pain in their neck and shoulders.

Hollow, for their part, cared less about the little passengers on their person and more about the low entryway that kept knocking their horns whenever they stepped out the door. While Hornet has chosen the largest abandoned house for them in Dirthmouth, it was still not quite big enough for Hollow to enter and exit comfortably. No matter how far down they ducked their head, their upper tines always managed to clip against the lintel. They hissed in discomfort as they stepped out now, the _tok_ of the impact ringing through the veins of pale ore that held their cracked shell together. 

“If that Menderbug does not come and enlarge this door as he promised,” Hornet said, “I will hunt him down myself and pin his wings to our wall.”

 _“Do not,”_ they signed, hastily moving in front of her to get her attention. They knew their sister meant every word and would act upon the threat, no matter how undeserving the recipient. _“Please.”_

“If the little gnat keeps true to his word, then I will not have to,” was all she said in reply as she patted Hollow’s hand. “Now, come along, or we will be late. Elderbug is expecting us for dinner, remember? I do not wish to hurt the old gentleman’s feelings.”

As she walked on ahead of them, Hollow and Ghost talked amongst themselves. Grimmchild in the meantime amused himself by gnawing at Hollow’s horns. He was getting better about not biting down so hard as to cause them pain, but they would still occasionally wince at the little pinpricks of tiny eager fangs against shell.

 _You know,_ Ghost ventured, patting their hands with a rhythmic _tip-tap-tip-tap_ on Hollow’s head, _I could just make the door bigger if you want? There’s not a whole lot this pure nail can’t cut through. Just... don’t tell the Nailsmith I used it that way._

 _The offer is appreciated, but I am afraid I will have to decline._ Hollow paused in their way to wave a quick hello to the map-making mosquito couple by the stag station. _Not to cast doubt on your good intentions and ability, but the last time you applied that logic you nearly brought half of Deepnest down on top of us._

_For the gazillionth time, I was trying to make a shortcut for us! That old support column came out of nowhere!_

_Ah, woe be to all of Hallownest,_ laughed Hollow, _that its ghost and heir will never be a master builder!_

If Ghost’s tapping at their head became notably more aggressive after that, it did nothing to quell Hollow’s quiet chuckling or the shaking of their shoulders. 

* * *

Their dreams were restless, full of flames and old grief.

It was becoming rarer and rarer these days for Hollow to sleep in peace. So often had they accidentally woken up Ghost or the others with their constant fidgeting and labored breathing and outright night terrors, they had taken to making their bed some distance from their siblings. Hornet had offered to brew up a sleep-aid for them on more than one occasion, and Ghost insisted that Hollow’s stirring did not bother the three of them one bit. Even so, Hollow had refused and after a while the others had respected their wish to be left alone on the subject.

Vessels, as a rule, could and would sleep if they chose but seldom ever dreamed. Perhaps it was simply because of that _otherness_ , that bit of the Void they each contained. A bug’s dreams were that no-man’s between their body and their soul, and a vessel’s shell and shade were not strictly one-to-one with a body and soul. 

Yet ever since their internment in the Temple of the Black Egg, in that small eternity when the Radiance had been sealed within them, Hollow had done nothing _but_ dream whenever they slept. Three curses She had left them before She had been slain. First, a fury and pain no vessel could ever contain, no matter how supposedly empty they were. Second, a voice ripped from their throat until blood and words dripped from their tongue. And third, dreams full of light and hunger and memory.

Hollow walked that night in white and marbled halls. Silver gilding on every windowframe and balustrade and chandelier. Pale vines and roots and flowers that never wilted. Myriad servants painted and garbed in white who bowed as they passed, each as faceless and simpering as the last. Pale godlight that shone from the great beacons in the halls day and night.

Grand, beautiful, cold. The White Palace was all of these things, and for much of their life it was their home and all they had ever known.

Their footsteps echoed far down the hallways in spite of the mist that pooled on the floor and dampened the end of their cape. Upon their shoulders rested their old armor, gleaming and heavy. Their long nail was also peculiarly untouched by time at their side in its sheath.

Hollow’s legs moved of their own accord, as they so often did in this particular nightmare. They knew their path would take them up the grand staircases and down the empty halls, and they knew what awaited them at the end. The knowing did nothing to lessen the dread that pooled like acid in their belly or the fear that made their hands cold and clammy. Worst of all was the guilt that tightened around their throat until they could scarcely breathe.

They wanted to run. Run, run, and run, until they had left these cursed halls and the ghosts within them behind. But there was no running for Hollow from their past, no running from their failure and their sin.

Soon the doors of the throne room were looming up before them, opening of their own accord. Dazzling light blinded them as they stepped forward. Pure white tile clicked underfoot, the great seal of Hallownest gleamed overhead. Four tall mandibles, relics of a once-greater form, stood arced and polished on either side of the throne.

There in the throne itself, sitting tall and larger-than-life, was their sire and liege -- the Pale King.

Neither said anything as Hollow knelt before the dais. They prostrated themself until their face was nearly parallel with the floor, carapace aching as their back arched into the bow. Hollow’s nail clanked against the tile as they shook, helpless against the tremors that wracked their body. All the while they could feel the eyes of their sire burning into them, branding them for the failure they were.

_Weak._

_No cost too great._

_Defect._

_No cost too great._

_Refuse._

_No cost too great._

_Impure._

The same mantra that chanted in their mind each night, and yet each word came down like a blow from the King’s own hand. Hollow buried their face in their palms, fingers digging painfully into their shell. They rocked back and forth upon the floor as they whispered to themself, trying in vain to block out the voices.

This was how their dream -- their nightmare -- always played itself out. Hollow upon the floor as their sire passed judgement upon them, begging for forgiveness and an end at the same time. So it would go until this nightmare faded into the next terror or they woke up. 

What would come next, they wondered? Perhaps the wraiths of Her memory would come to shriek doom and destruction in their ear again? Maybe their emergence from the Abyss, of losing Ghost yet again? Or perhaps they would simply be left to rot in that tomb of a temple for an eternity?

“You are not here,” Hollow rasped in a voice that felt oddly disembodied from themself. “You are not real. You are only a memory. You are not here...”

Yet something different happened this night. For this night, the King spoke.

“Ah, but even memories can hurt, can they not? And you, my friend, are full to bursting with them.”

Hollow’s head slowly came up. The room around them blurred, darkened as they moved. Red flames bloomed in flower-like sconces that hung from the ceiling. Dark heraldry stood emblazoned on magenta and maroon cloth that hung from the walls. Shadows danced at the edge of the glow the sconces cast, the darkness coyly flirting with the firelight.

When they looked upon the throne once more, their sire was gone. In his place was a much taller bug lounging over the arms of the throne, looking as if the seat were made just for him in spite of the way his legs spilled over it. His grey cape flashed magenta underneath as a breeze played at its tattered edges. Eyes a shade or two brighter stared out from behind a white mask. Two short horns curved inwards and faded into the shadows. A smile, jagged and toothy as a mawlek’s, flashed at Hollow.

“Who… What are you?” they stammered as they got to their feet. Free from the hold of their nightmare, their hand instantly went to the hilt of their nail. Hollow did not immediately recognize the stranger, but there was something terribly, horribly familiar in that smirking face.

“Why, don’t you know me, wyrmchild?” he laughed, standing up as Hollow did. “You know my son, at least.” With a flourish of his cape, he bowed deeply at the waist towards them. Then, so swiftly that Hollow scarcely saw him move, he was in front of them, nearly nose-to-nose.

“Allow me to introduce myself properly, then. I am twin and brother to She who was bound, bright and burning, in your shell. I am king of that realm set apart, master of that troupe doomed to wander between the lands of waking and dreaming for all eternity. I am all these things, yes, but…” One of those clawed hands came up to stroke down Hollow’s jaw until he held their chin between his fingers. “You, however, may call me _Grimm_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And welcome back, folks! c: Taking a quick break from my other work for a bit to work on some more HK stuff. Continuing from where Shade and Shell left off, I wanted to do a work focusing on Hollow this time now that they have a support network that they lacked before. Leave a comment letting me know what you think, and your kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Also, please check out [chipper-smol](https://chipper-smol.tumblr.com/tagged/myart)'s work on tumblr, a big inspiration for this fic. c:


	2. Bargains Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollow and Grimm come to blows -- and then to an accord -- in the dreaming lands.

Hollow’s nail was drawn instantly in a shriek of metal-on-metal and a shower of sparks. They drew the blade back, straight as an archer drawing an arrow, and dashed forward. Before they could put the end of it through Grimm’s chest, however, the bug was already twirling away to one side. Heart still racing, they pursued.

They were muttering the incantation before they were properly conscious of the act. A dagger manifested in their free hand, shining and etched with runes of summoning and doubling. Then, faster than the eye could blink, the dagger flashed and multiplied into five. Releasing the spell, the dagger and its brothers went flying across the room.

Grimm dodged the projectiles easily, stepping this way and that as the daggers shot one by one into the shadows. The last he caught between two fingers, and the metal rattled harmlessly against his dark carapace. With a smirk and a wink, he sent the dagger flying back just as swiftly.

Only Hollow’s quick reflexes kept them from getting their own dagger shot back between their eyes. The smaller blade glanced off the flat of their nail. They were already readying their next attack as it clattered to the floor before disappearing in a flurry of sparkles.

Their opponent was on the offensive now, however. He moved like a master dancer, every movement of limb and body full of art and intention. Grimm went gliding across the room quick as lightning. His arm drew up in the same instance, and claws came raking through the air scarce inches from Hollow’s face.

Hollow lurched back. Instinctively their nail came up to cut him in two, but then he was dancing away again. There was no striking him at any distance, near or far, and chasing him would do no good. 

Indeed it was Hollow being chased now as Grimm sent volley after volley of flame after them. The flames twitched and writhed as they flew through the air. As they drew near to Hollow they manifested in a shape that bore an eerie resemblance to Grimmchild, biting and clawing as their armor.

Hollow scarcely dodged the last one as they dove behind one of the pillars that ringed the room. Their breath came fast and shallow as they tightened their grip on the nail hilt. Cursing under their breath, they wracked their brain for some tactic from their training, any plan to subdue him. One finally sprang to mind as Grimm’s voice called out again.

“Come, my friend, don’t be shy!” he cackled. “Stagefright does not become one of your noble lineage.” A beat or two of silence, then the slow _tap_ _tap_ of footsteps coming closer to their hiding place.

“If I wished you ill, I would have been far more direct in my approach,” Grimm continued matter-of-factly. “I only want to speak with you. Now come out of the shadows, won’t you?” 

The glow of magefire came suddenly from behind the pillar, casting the shadows into wild disarray. The bug was very nearly upon Hollow’s hiding place as they silently began a new spell. 

“Some illumination might ease your suspicions, and I would see that pretty face of yours better by firelight…”

While he babbled, Hollow shot out again and thrust their nail into the ground. 

“There we are. Now where were we-- Agh!” 

A wall of blades sprang up in front of Grimm. As he was sent back staggering and hissing, Hollow’s trap was waiting for him. The spells were hastily woven but thrumming with power, and Grimm tripped them the moment he backed into the spell-circle proper.

Light and heat exploded through the room as the destruction spells activated. Hollow covered their eyes as they fell into a crouch. Even in dreams -- nightmares? -- as they were, their spells were enough to grievously injure any mortal bug.

“How _dare_ you?”

Yet as Grimm has made plain in his words and his power, he was no mortal bug but a higher being in his own right. And Hollow had not harmed him, only angered him.

Cloth-like tendrils sprung from the floor beneath Hollow. The tendrils coiled into spikes as sharp-ended as any lance, and they stumbled backward to narrowly avoid being skewered. Here and there they were driven, and only too late did they realize they had been separated from their nail, still driven into the ground. They were herded now as they had attempted to herd Grimm.

“If I were a lesser god, I would kill you for that,” came his hissing words, all pretense of friendliness blown away like so much smoke. “Well enough to have a dance of blades to get to know one another, but actually attempting to take my life is nothing short of _rude_.”

The tendrils shot up once more. This time they took hold of Hollow’s horns, and they were wrenched violently to the floor. The wind was knocked from Hollow’s lungs, as pain bloomed as stars in their sight.

More tendrils came to wrap around their wrists and neck. The bonds pulled and twisted until Hollow was forced to a kneeling position on the floor. They bucked uselessly as Grimm stalked forward to stand in front of them again. 

Kneeling as they were, his fiery gaze could burn straight into Hollow’s now. Grimm closed his eyes, inhaling a long and steady breath, before opening them again. The tendrils tightened further around Hollow until they could scarcely move, and he took hold of their chin again.

“Are you quite finished, wyrmchild?” he said, a little more composed now. “I did not speak falsely when I said I only wished to speak with you, but I refuse to waste my breath on a grub who has yet to learn basic manners. Did a sire such as yours not teach you better?”

“Get out,” Hollow rasped, wincing as those fingers dug into their shell but not faltering from that gaze. “You… You have no right to trespass upon my rest.”

“I have the only right, actually,” Grimm corrected them. “What’s more, you can hardly call this a proper rest. In fact you have not had one in many nights. I -- or rather, _we_ \-- have sensed as much even from the Heart of our realm.”

“Nightmare King or not, my dreams are no business of yours. Why are you here?”

“Believe me, after that little stunt--” He jerked his head over his shoulder at the smoldering crater that was all that was left of Hollow’s last spell. “--I am sorely tempted to take my assistance elsewhere and leave you to your lonesome. However...”

Grimm stepped back and snapped his fingers. Hollow fell forward on their hands and knees as the tendrils uncoiled and released them. The world around the two of them briefly darkened again. When the light returned, the dream had changed yet again.

They were in a small, round room. Soft cloth of various shades of purple and red decorated the walls and ceiling and gave the impression of standing in a small tent. Plush pillows of the same sort littered the carpeted floor. A lowset table stood between Hollow and Grimm. Upon the table was a bright lantern housing a scarlet red flame, warm and inviting where it had not been before.

“My approach hardly helped matters,” Grimm sighed as he sat down on the side opposite from Hollow. “I chose a poor moment to make myself known, and I believe I startled you rather badly. Given my position, I ought to have known better. So I apologize for that much.” He waved a hand at the pile of cushions on the other side of the table. “Have a seat.”

Hollow, though no longer trussed up, was hardly anymore keen to trust him. Eyes narrowed, they stared at the bug for a good minute in silence. They were tempted themself to refuse, but given that they stood in the god’s own realm and had likely seen only a fraction of his power at work…

Slowly, they righted themself and sat down cross-legged. Hollow scooted themself to within a barely-respectable distance of the table before stopping. They said nothing, merely laid their hands upon their knees and stared at Grimm. 

The silence yawned wider between them, longer and longer. Clearly the one expected the other to begin, and their rankled prides would not let go of their tongues. When it began to seem that they would continue staring in silence at one another until they both dropped dead, Grimm sighed and spoke first.

“Heart, give me strength,” he muttered. “I believe you might make me regret this, before this is all over.” 

Another snap of his fingers, and a tray appeared on the table next to the lantern. A black porcelain tea set, etched with red designs reminiscent of dream motes in the kettle and cups, laden with what looked to be biscuits of some sort. Hollow caught the scent of coffee as Grimm poured himself a cup.

“Care for a drink?” he offered. When Hollow shook their head, he simply set the saucer and cup on the table in front of them. Grimm laced his fingers together and set his chin upon them as he gave Hollow a measuring look. “Fine, I will get to the point, then. Your sleep has been troubled of late, has it not?”

“If you are who you claim to be, then I doubt you need me to answer that,” Hollow replied frostily.

“True enough, but one cannot truly accept help from another until they admit they are in need of it.”

“Stop speaking in riddles, Nightmare King,” they snapped, tapping their fingers rapidly on their knee, “and the sort of help you have to offer I want no part of.”

“Hear me out, at least.” Grimm took a sip from his cup and sighed. “As you say, I do not need your confirmation to know that dark dreams haunt you of late. Such things are pathways to my kingdom, after all, and you have made a well-worn track there in your comings and goings.

“Now it is all well and good for mortals to have nightmares. A little terror and grief now and again is normal, healthy even. For what is life without fear to make you cherish it all the more, to guard you against danger? Moreover, it tastes…” His fist came up to mouth and he closed his eyes. “... _sweet_ , to me and my kin.” 

He offered up a biscuit to Hollow. When they only eyed it dubiously, he shrugged and took a bite himself. 

“But all things in moderation, of course.” He swallowed. “Nightmares, when too harsh and too numerous, wear upon the mind and the body. On rare occasions, they bleed into the dreams of others, like brambles left to run wild. Yours is such a case.”

Grimm brought his hand down to his chest, tapping over the place where his heart would have beat if he had one.

“There is a sickness in you, wyrmchild,” he said. Something cold sunk in Hollow’s belly to hear the _pity_ in his voice. “Borne of your past and all the loss and abuse therein.”

“You know nothing of me,” they whisper harshly, eyes narrowing further. They dug their fingers painfully into the carapace of their legs. “You know nothing of my life, who I have been or what I have done!”

“Do not bother denying it.” Grimm wagged a finger at them. “I will grant you I am not privy to every last sordid detail of your life, but I know enough. Your dreams of late have been… _telling_ , shall we say?”

Hollow bent upon themself, head in their hands. A part of them hoped that if they closed their eyes and shut their ears to god that sat across from, that he would leave and they would wake up once again in their own bed. But there was no waking from this dream, this nightmare. Grimm meant to keep them there, and there would be waking up save by his leave.

“I have told no one of my dreams, not even my siblings whom I love above all else. And they are certainly not for the likes of you to go rifling through as you please.

“Little Ghost is alive and well, Hornet is with us, and we are making a life for ourselves amongst friends and loved ones. I am free from the temple and Her hold. My shell is mended and my power is returned to me. I am content. I am happy.” Hollow shuddered slightly. “So I do not need you making problems where there are none, Nightmare King.”

Silence, and then another long-suffering sigh from Grimm.

“Fair enough not to pay me heed, wyrmchild,” he said, shaking his head, “but you cannot be so deaf as to not hear what your own dreams are trying to tell you.”

“What are you going on about now?” Hollow rasped, heading snapping up.

“Your body has been healed, but your mind has not.” Grimm gestured at him slowly, as if he thought Hollow slow-witted. “Your grief and regret and self-hatred -- these things remain and have begun to fester inside you. Left unchecked, they will slowly poison you and those you love in the waking and dreaming lands alike. They will weather away what little happiness you have managed to gather to yourself until you are left with nothing but your own misery.”

“And what concern is it of yours?” The edge to Hollow’s voice was bitter, but more hopeless than angry. “What does the pain of one dreamer matter to you?”

“You insult me again,” Grimm replied, though there was little heat in his words. “I am hardly that heartless. As I said, the poison in you may well overflow and bleed into the dreams of others. Your pain will be their pain and vice versa, and that is a serious danger to my realm. I am simply working to keep that from happening.” 

“Does that make me some sort of threat to you then?” Hollow asked quietly. “Is that why you are bothering with me in the first place?”

“If I am being candid with you, then yes, that is my primary interest.” Grimm spread his arms with palms upturned, a gesture of admittance and surrender. “But it is far from the only reason. Secondmost is the boon I owe to your sibling.”

Hollow sat up straighter then, and their suspicion towards the other returned. “What does Ghost have to do with this? If this is some ploy to get to them through me, I will not--”

“Peace!” Grimm straightened up as well, bristling slightly. “Will you let me finish, at least? Little wonder my sister gave you such a thrashing! How often must I repeat myself? I mean no harm to you or your kin. Besides, I hardly think the Lord of Shades needs defending, mere wandering ghost as they were when we first met.”

Realization dawned on Hollow. “Grimmchild…”

“Yes, my son,” Grimm nodded. “Your sibling performed a great service for me in raising my child and completing our Ritual. Because of them my son will grow into his own power, with all the love and safety and care I will never be able to give him myself.”

He sighed into his palm before reaching for his cup agan. Grimm took a long drink from it and held the cup between his hands. He stared into it for a long moment before looking up gravely.

“I feel some sense of obligation to repay that debt in whatever way that I can. It seems fitting, in a way, that I should offer my aid to the kin of one who helped my kin.”

“And should I refuse?” Hollow asked, tilting their head at him. “Your words are pretty enough and your reasoning seems noble enough, but I am still not sure of you. I have trusted no one, not even my siblings with what haunts my dreams. Why should I trust you, Nightmare King?”

“You may take or leave my offer as you wish. I cannot force you, that is true.” Grimm’s eyes fixed upon them intently. “But your demons are coming for you, sooner rather than later and there will be no stopping them. I am offering you the best chance you will have at managing them and keeping them from hurting the ones you love. So why not put on a brave face and meet your troubles head on?” 

He chuckled slightly. “And if you do not find my methods to your liking you are perfectly capable of letting me know that quite plainly and immediately, as you have shown me with words and nail. We are equals in that, wyrmchild, make no mistake.”

They stared down at their hands in their lap. “... Hollow.”

Grimm tilted his head and stared at them, a smirk quirking on his fangs again.

“What was that?”

“Hollow. My name is Hollow, not ‘wyrmchild.’” They glanced up once more to stare hard at the god. “I do not trust you in the least, but I am beginning to think you will not leave well enough alone if I send you away. If I refuse now, you will only continue to haunt my dreams as you find some other way to ‘help’ me. So I will accept your offer now on my terms while I may.”

Hollow stood and extended a hand towards Grimm, resigned but resolute. “Do I have your word on that, Nightmare King?”

“As my bond, but you really must learn to call me Grimm in return,” he purred. “We are to be partners in this little venture, after all.” He stood up with a grin that seemed like it might split shell down the middle. Grimm laid his palm over Hollow’s own. Heat bloomed where their carapace touched, and Hollow shivered in spite of themself. 

“Enough,” they said, huffing slightly. “Do we have a bargain, _Grimm_?”

“Yes, _Hollow_ ,” he hissed in a voice like wood popping and crackling in a fireplace as his hand curled around theirs. “We most certainly have a bargain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! The muse and my writing drive got in some rare sync today, so I was able to get most of this chapter written one go. Grimm's character is quite fun to write for!
> 
> As always, I hope this chapter pleases! Let me know what you think down in the comments, and don't forget to leave a kudos!


	3. Finding the Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollow makes a delivery down to the City of Tears. With the return of nightmares comes their king, and Hollow begins long and bitter work.

Morning dawned pale and overcast, but that was hardly unusual for Dirthmouth. Hollow stared groggily at the roughshell ceiling. Their eyes blearily followed the arching segments of the room. Beneath them their hammock swayed slightly as they stirred. Reaching up to rub at their face, they sighed softly. Another restless night followed by yet another tired morning.

Grabbing hold of the cloth on either side of them, they sat up and twisted into a sitting position. Their feet met the packed floor with a muffled  _ click-click _ . All was quiet and still in the house and the village, in those sweet and fleeting moments before waking. Only Hollow broke the silence as they stretched up to their full height, carapace popping slightly as they lifted their arms over their head.    
  
They made a beeline for the stove. It was quick work to poke the banked fire within back to life and to throw a few shellwood logs upon it. The ordinary, cheery orange of the flames was an oddly comforting sight after last night’s... dream? Nightmare?

Hollow grabbed the kettle on the wall. Once they had filled it and set it to heating on the stovetop, they began rifling through the pantry. Their fingers slid across the stone jars on the upper shelves, full of spices and herbs and the like. Cocoa and tea and… coffee.

Scent of coffee. The close and pressing gloom of a tent by lanternlight. Burning eyes that saw right through them. A bargain made.

_ “There is a sickness in you, wyrmchild…” _

Nightmare. It had definitely been a nightmare.

They opted for the tea. A few minutes later they had steeped the dried leaves in a small bowl. Carefully they tipped the steaming drink into their traveling flash. Emptying the sodden leaves into the bin by the fireplace, they set the bowl in the sink and made for the entryway. 

They took their cloak from the peg by the door, taking a moment to run their hands over the silkworm fabric. It was soft and navy blue, woven and dyed by Hornet herself. Tying it about their shoulders with a beaten iron broach, Hollow was just about to kneel to grab the little bundle under the rack. Just as they did so, they felt a tug at their free hand.

_ Hollow? _ came Ghost’s voice. Sure enough, Hollow turned to see their little sibling rubbing their eyes sleepily.

_ Little one, what you are doing up so early? _ Hollow asked, standing and picking them up in the same motion.  _ Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you. _

_ How come  _ you’re _ up so early, huh?  _ Ghost asked, already laying their head against Hollow’s shoulder.

_ I told you, _ Hollow laughed softly.  _ I have to make a delivery to Quirrel today, and if I am to be back before evening I must set out now. _

_ But aren’t you tired?  _ Ghost asked as Hollow lifted them up and lay them in their hammock. It lay below Grimmchild’s roost and above Hornet’s own hammock, both of whom were still snoring lightly.  _ You were tossing and turning all night... _

_ Hush, _ Hollow said gently, pointedly avoiding the question. They leaned over and nuzzled gently between Ghost’s horns.  _ Go back to sleep, little one. I will return soon. _

There was no reply. Ghost had already nodded off once more. Shaking their head slightly, they tucked the blankets around Ghost’s shoulders. 

Turning on their heel, they made for the door again. Hollow spared one more glance over their shoulder at their little family. Peaceful and rested and content, as none of them had been for so much of their life. A tender pain, warm and soft, bloomed in Hollow’s chest.

_ For them, _ Hollow thought quietly to themself.  _ For them and for them alone, I will walk through the fire. _

Without further ado, they grabbed their bundle and walked out into the misty morning.

* * *

“Up here!”

Quirrel’s call came muffled through the rain. His figure was dim and hazy against the constant deluge, but Hollow could just make him out from where they stood at the signpost. They raised an arm in acknowledgement before loping the distance that remained between them.

Close at it was to the Fungal Wastes, the old forge was not strictly the most pleasant smelling place of business. The various mushrooms and other fungi, on the other hand, made the climb up quite easy. Hollow all but bounced their way up the cliff. The contents of the bag slung over their shoulder clacked dully together with each bound. Hollow skidded to a halt near the forge’s entrance, nearly bowling Quirrel over in the process.

“Woah there!” he said, putting out a steadying hand to keep Hollow from toppling. He offered a hand out to take the bag from the other, and they gratefully gave up the rather heavy sack. “Are all vessels as quick as you and Ghost to fling themselves off cliffs, or is that just a quirk you two share?”

_ “Neither,” _ Hollow signed with a shake of their head.  _ “We are just a little top-heavy.” _

“Yes, your heads  _ are _ a little heavier than the average bug’s,” Quirrel admitted with a shrug. “And I have certainly carried enough shells out of the Abyss to know!”

Hollow gently poked a finger between his eyes at the jest.

“Hey! You know I am only teasing.” He nodded towards the warm glow of the forge. “Now let’s get out of this deluge. I notice you forgot your umbrella again…” 

_ “It would only slow me down,” _ Hollow insisted.  _ “Still, do not tell Hornet.” _

“Oh, I don’t have to,” he replied blithely. “You think she won’t have noticed the extra umbrellas in the stand by the door?”

The slow cant of Hollow’s gaze toward the ground to Quirrel that, no, they had considered that. 

“Lemm, dear, will you put the kettle on?” he called as he took Hollow by the wrist and pulled them inside. “We have company.”

“That knight in again?” came the bearded beetle’s less-than-pleased reply. “Fine, but I’m hiding the biscuits. They completely cleaned us out the last time they visited.” He cast a shrewd glance over at Hollow. “And I notice you didn’t bring anything to replace them. I’m a curator, not a baker, in case that wasn’t clear. Do you have any idea how much that gouger Tuk charges for worm-meal?”

“Dear,” Quirrel said, voice both loving and warning at the same time, “no need to be rude. I think Hollow gets the point.” He glanced back as Hollow signed again. “And they say that they promise to bring back a whole basket of biscuits next time.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Lemm said, but pursued the subject no further. He did pause a moment to peck a kiss on Quirrel’s cheek, before going to the stove in the corner to make the tea.

“Forgive him.” Quirrel flushed slightly as he rubbed at said cheek. “He is a grumpy sort any day, but he’s especially grumpy on days when we’re helping out at the forge. Speaking of which-- Nailsmith! Do you have a moment?”

“No need to shout, I can hear you,” the rhinoceros beetle said, not pausing as he hammered at a molten bit of metal on his anvil. The light of the forge cast orange highlights over blue-black shell and curly beard. He looked up at Hollow and Quirrel, then at the bag the latter held. “Hmm? Another delivery from Miss Jiji? Good, good.”

“Yes, the spelltags.” Setting the bag down, Quirrel pulled out one of the dozens of little stone tablets within. 

The thin, round tablet of fossilstone was scarcely larger than his palm. Painted in white upon each side were tiny runes of summoning and binding. Each was a miniature of the great magic circle with which they had rebound Ghost’s shade to their shell. Yet each spelltag was distinct from the rest, just as each shade that still slumbered in the Abyss was distinct from the rest of their siblings.

“Once again the dear lady outdoes herself,” Quirrel praised as he replaced the tablet. “There must be an even eight dozen here, and all in a fortnight, no less. That’s quite a few candles to burn. She isn’t straining herself, I hope?”

_ “She says she has slept enough for a lifetime,” _ Hollow supplied.  _ “That she is thankful to be of help.”  _ They paused a moment. _ “And she would like more eggs if you would be so kind.” _

“I’ll have a word with Tuq the next time I see her.” Quirrel glanced up as Lemm returned with a hot kettle and the tea service. Smiling, he returned a kiss on the relic-seeker’s cheek. “Thank you, dear.”

“Oh, hush,” Lemm muttered as he hid his face in Quirrel’s shoulder, his beard going all bristly and poorly disguising his flustered mood.

In a short while the four of them were sitting in companionable silence at a table at one end of the forge. Quirrel and Lemm sat huddled next to one another in the corner, Hollow and the Nailsmith on either side of them. The Nailsmith had been kind enough to provide some biscuits of his own (it was with great restraint that Hollow only took four for themself).

Hollow huffed slightly, ruminating over the bark tea that warmed their belly and fought off the chill damp outside. They were not strictly looking forward to the long trek back, but there was no avoiding it. Previous attempts to make use of the stagway had proved less than comfortable for a bug of Hollow’s size, kind and accommodating as the Old Stag was. There were only so many dozen times one could clip their head against the ceiling of the narrow stagway tunnels before they were put off the mode of travel altogether. 

They gestured to Quirrel again when they could next get his attention, nodding to the Nailsmith.

“Hollow would like to say thank you for the tea and biscuits,” Quirrel translated, “but they must be off soon. Oh, and to thank you for temporarily reopening shop to help them in the work of rehabilitating their siblings.”

“No need to thank me, good bug.” The Nailsmith nodded sagely. “The little knight not only helped me see my dream to fruition, but to find a new one as well. My husband and his brothers are similarly grateful. We will do all that we can to return the favor.”

“Where are they off to now, by the way?” Quirrel inquired, sipping at his tea.

“All three of them are at Kingdom’s Edge, mining away at that pale ore vein you and Miss Hornet found. Though I imagine my Sheo is spending as much time keeping Oro and Mato from butting heads as he is digging for ore…”

“Well, one can only hope they work out any differences they have soon. The broken shells of the vessels are legion according to Ghost, and the work to repair them will be long and hard enough as it is without their bickering.”

“All things in their own time and all that,” the Nailsmith reassured him. “And if they will not listen to Sheo, I am sure Sly can be persuaded to knock some sense into their thick carapaces. Figuratively and literally.”

“Duly noted, and--” Quirrel glanced over at Hollow again. “--Hollow says they will gladly add their voice to that argument. Or I suppose I should say their nail?”

The four of them fell into quiet laughter as the rain poured on outside.

* * *

Puffs of cloud floated as gentle islands through the wind and the gloom. Hollow’s breath misted and floated up into the night to join them. They idly watched the swirls and eddies through the air, trying to imagine bugs and beasts and scenes and landscapes out of the chaos.

Here an aspid hunter, there a crawlid. To their right a mosscharger herding a topiary of mosscreeps, now a weaver catching an unfortunate soul in their tapestry of a web. The web-infested twists of Deepnest, then the spires of the City of Tears, and then the golden cathedrals of the Hive. 

The crumbling granite at Hollow’s back was cool and damp. Below them, their legs dangled off the sheer cliff and into foggy nothingness. Not even the lights of Dirtmouth could be seen through the mist. Some distance behind them the ancient stones hummed with a power long faded and broken. Above them, the wings of a great statue swept out to either side of a three-pronged crest. An idol of Her peace and light, the last relic of Her cult.

Night brought good council, as the old saying went, and nowhere could one hear it better than at Hallownest’s Crown. Often Hollow would come up here, in waking and dreaming, and simply sit there as they tried to quiet their mind. Ironic, that they should find a measure of peace in their old enemy’s place of worship.

“A gloomy dream, but a beautiful one nonetheless,” came a voice beside them.

Hollow started and flinched away, heading snapping in the direction of the sound and reaching for a nail that was not there. 

It took them a moment or two to recognize Grimm’s profile in the low light. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, hands folded at his knee. The breeze flirted with the edges of what Hollow had mistaken for a cloak at their first meeting but now realized were leathery wings. His eyes were half-lidded and glowed against the dark, and they were quite certain he was wearing that self-satisfied smirk again. He was all flame and poise and beauty and Hollow wanted nothing more in that moment than to shove him off the cliff. 

“Refrain from doing that again, please,” they said, drawing their knees up to their chest and scooting away.

“Doing what?” Grimm replied cheekily, tilting his head to one side.

“Sneaking up on me in my own dreams,” Hollow replied tersely. “I sleep little enough as it is without you making a game of frightening me.”

“Well, I am certainly playing a game, but the intent is hardly to frighten you. In any case, what is any venture without a little fun? A little fear, a little burning of the heart?”

“You are most certainly your son’s father.” They stood and dusted their cloak off. They kept their gaze pointedly away from their visitor as they stared out at a particularly interesting whisp in the mist. “Let us… Let us get this business over with.”

“Not the attitude I was hoping for,” Grimm sighed as he too stood, “but I suppose I must take it. Very well, we shall begin. First, however, allow me to explain how our little…  _ sessions _ will play out.”

He stepped closer to the cliff’s edge. As he moved, the mist turned from white to crimson. Red motes and mandalas winked spiraled into life around them, glowing just as his gaze did. Grimm turned his face up to the sky, and his eyes narrowed as if he focused on something far above that only he could see.

“Your pain -- your dreams, that is -- are such a tangled mess. I am reminded of the old tale of the warrior who slew the beast in its dark labyrinthine den, who followed the thread he had laid behind to escape to the outside world once more.”

Grimm turned on his heel to face Hollow once more. He straightened to his full height, the edges of his wings fluttering like banners out behind him. The facade of the playful troupe master was gone, and a king stood in his place.

“The beast is dead, Hollow, but still you linger in the maze. We must find the thread and follow it together to its end. To that end, I can see no better way, save to start at the beginning and work our way forward.”

“The beginning of what exactly?” Hollow said, a part of them understanding Grimm’s meaning but not daring to acknowledge it just yet.

“Why, what else?” Grimm replied, raising one hand in the air. “ _ Your _ beginnings, my friend.”

Then, with a snap of his fingers, the dream world around them shifted.

Darkness swept over them, under them, through them. No wind, no sense of either time or space. It was a darkness so deep and still and complete, Hollow could only liken it to the egg or the tomb.

Yet they were not alone. There were others there with them in the dark. Many others, like them and yet not like them. As one they all waited. Watched. Listened.

Something was coming.

Then there was light, bright and blinding. It hurt Hollow’s eyes and stabbed through their soft, newborn shell as lamplight through porcelain. Yet it beckoned as much as it burned. The light called Hollow, and they could not disobey.

So they followed it. Up and up, they climbed and jumped. The others -- their siblings, their siblings -- followed alongside them. For a while they all traveled up together, of one mind and intent. 

But then, one by one, the others around them began to falter and then to fall. 

“No cost too great.”

_ Crack _ went their newborn shells as they plummeted to the fossilstone floor far below. When the bottomless pit itself was covered, still more fell on top of them.

“No mind to think”.

Some struck one another in their descent, causing still more to fall with them.

“No will to break.”

Yet Hollow could not stop, for then they too would die--

“No voice to cry suffering.”

Bodies, bodies, so many bodies--

“Born of God and Void.”

The light was calling.

Hollow climbed higher, higher, and higher still. Soon there was no one else but themself as they ascended the final stretch. Their feet touched upon cool metal. Once they had steadied themself, they looked up and--

There he was. Pale as the darkness had been black, the opposite of all that Hollow had known in their scarce moments of life. He was their light and sire, the whole of their world summed up in one person. He was the Pale King.

“You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams,” he said. 

His voice thrummed through Hollow, sparked something inside them. Something desperate, something earnest flared to life in Hollow. They knew they would follow this being to whatever end he set for them, that they would do and be whatever he needed them to be. 

Only later would Hollow realize what they felt in this moment was  _ love _ , pure and unconditional -- and it was that very moment that ruined everything. 

“You are the Vessel,” the Pale King pronounced. “You are the Hollow Knight.”

Hollow had the curious sensation of standing apart and outside themself. When they blinked, they found that they indeed were. There stood their younger self staring back upon the metal platform, scarcely as tall as Ghost now was. Yet their younger self looked not at them but  _ through _ them. Hollow’s heart fell into their belly as they too turned, knowing what they would see.

“Ghost,” they whispered. Their little sibling hung there from the edge, so close, but their sire was already striding away towards the door. Hollow’s head snapped in one direction and then the other. First to their sibling, then to their sire and their younger self.

“Wait, please--” Hollow lurched forward, hand outstretched. “Father! Can you not see you are leaving them behind? Only turn and  _ look _ ! Wait! Father--!”

Then the door slammed, and darkness fell once more.

Their hands shook. Their breath came heavy and labored. Everything hurt, from their head to their heart. It was everything they could do to remain standing. Soon they could not even manage that.

Falling to their knees, Hollow held their head in their hands. Their shoulders quaked as they struggled to keep from spiraling. It was too much, too much and all their fault--

“Easy, my friend, easy. Deep breaths now.”

Grimm’s voice cut through the silence as a warm flame through a cold night. A hand came to rest tentatively on Hollow’s shoulder, and they jerked away from him. For all that they wanted  _ some _ comforting touch in that moment, they did not want it from him.

“Leave me be,” Hollow growled, curling in tighter upon themself. “You… You did this to me...”

“The pain is already in you,” Grimm corrected. “I merely brought it to light. But breathe a moment, and find yourself again. Breathe...”

Hollow cast a baleful glance up at him. If they could have banished him from their dreams then and there, they would have. Yet they did as he instructed, forcing first one gasping breath into their chest. Then a second, then a third.

It hurt. By all the powers that had been and still were, it hurt. Yet each ragged inhale and exhale became a little easier. Some minutes passed before Hollow felt like they would  _ not _ burst out of their own shell for the agony of it all. They were here, they were here…

Sensation returned to them, piece by piece. Hollow lay on something plush and soft. Above them a lantern swayed back and forth on a chain, illuminating the same tent they had dreamed of the night before.

They did not rise at first. For all they knew, the arson-happy bastard would send them spiraling into yet another painful memory. Hollow did not think they could take anymore, not tonight.

“You have nothing to fear,” Grimm said at their side. They slowly turned their head to see him sitting cross-legged near the truly decadent pile of pillows Hollow was currently nested in. “The ordeal is over. For this session, at any rate.”

“If that is the case, you can kindly  _ leave _ ,” Hollow replied rather uncharitably. 

Undaunted, Grimm merely summoned another cup of that blasted coffee for himself and began sipping at it.

“I did not say we were done,” he continued. “Tell me what you saw.”

“You know what I saw.” Hollow turned over and curled into the pillows. “I do not wish to speak anymore of it.”

“Be that as it may, I am not letting you off the hook until you do. You saw anew that which pains you, but only when you speak of it can you truly begin to be free of it.” 

Grimm set his cup and saucer on the floor and shifted closer. In a low voice, quiet and gentle, almost tender, he said, “Tell me, and let it go, Hollow. Let it go.”

He said it as if it were something so easy, and yet for Hollow in that moment it was even harder than breathing. They lay there in silence for what felt like a small eternity. That was more or less how long it took to gather their nerve and speak again.

“I--” Shuddering, Hollow’s squeezed the pillow nearest them. “I saw the place I was born. The Abyss. I saw my siblings and myself in the moments of our birth. I saw-- I saw a light, and I climbed up to see it better. We all did.”

“Good, good,” was all Grimm said. “Keep going now.”

“I kept going, but the others-- The others just kept falling. I couldn’t stop to help them, couldn’t stop climbing for the light.  _ Wouldn’t _ stop. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could  _ make _ myself do.

“I reached the top. I reached the light and I found-- I found  _ him _ . I found my sire. He called me his vessel, his knight. He said that I was hollow. Out of all the rest only I was chosen-- He wouldn’t even  _ look _ at the others, at Ghost!

“He-- He was the first good thing I had ever known. He became my king and my sire and my world in one instant and I-- I ruined it.” Hollow pressed their face into the pillow. “I ruined it all by the mere fact of my existence.”

“How did you ruin it exactly?” There was no judgement in Grimm’s tone. The question was merely that: a question.

“Because I was not-- Because I could not be--” Hollow’s breath became shaky again. “All my siblings that perished in the Abyss, the years of preparation wasted, the kingdom that would fall, the lives that would be destroyed--

“All of it was because of me. My sire chose wrongly. That was where it all went wrong. Because from the moment I loved my sire, I could not  _ be _ hollow. And no amount of wishing or punishing myself was ever going to erase that imperfection inside me.”

“Tell me, then, what exactly is so wrong with that.”

Hollow looked up at him, struck dumb for a moment. Had he not been listening to a word they had said? Had he not seen for himself all the misfortune that single moment had wrought, played his ritual out upon that cursed ground?

“No one is born a blank slate, my friend,” Grimm said, smiling slightly as he laid a hand between Hollow’s horns. “Not even princely paragons such as yourself. Each of us comes into this world with blessings and curses and imperfections alike, and those in turn are a matter of circumstance and perspective.

“The Pale King thought he could create something entirely beholden to his own design, something flawless and unattainable. The wyrms of old had a tendency to flirt with hubris, and he paid the price for it.”

His thumb stroked gentle circles between Hollow’s eyes. The motion slowly uncoiled the pain in their chest, and warmth began to take its place. In spite of themself, they began to sink further into the pillows.

“But your sire’s hubris does not equate to your own sin, Hollow. Do you understand?” Grimm’s thumb stilled a moment. He maneuvered himself until he too rested on his side, his free arm propping up his head. They saw eye-to-eye now, quite literally..

“You are not hollow and you never have been, save perhaps in name. That is simply how you came into the world. Whatever may or may not have come of that was no fault of your own or anything that you could control.”

Grimm patted the spot he had been rubbing. “So stop trying to torture yourself by convincing yourself otherwise. No child should have to carry the sins of their father.”

Hollow had no reply for that, and so they made none.

“I think that is enough for one night,” Grimm said after a while. He muttered something under his breath and carefully traced his fingertips over Hollow’s temple.

Darkness, fuzzy and warm, began to pull them down into unconsciousness. They were helpless against the tide, and so they let it embrace them.

“Sleep now, my friend, and dream no more until morning. Sleep…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, this one was a doozy to write, and it just goes uphill from here!
> 
> Thank you guys again so much for tuning to this story. You guys are such a big part of why I love writing these stories. As always, please leave a comment and kudos if you have a moment and let me know what you think! c :


	4. Spectacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollow and Hornet greet the dawn with nails drawn. Dreams bring back echoes of parties long past.

Wind whipped at the ragged edges of Hollow’s cloak. Dust flew up and bit into their carapace like a thousand little midges. It was scarcely past dawn, and the world held onto the cold and bitter edge of the night. Still they did not flinch as they fixed their eyes upon the opponent who stood opposite them.

Hornet stood exactly a dozen paces from them, the traditional distance for spars and duels alike. She stood as motionless as her sibling and steadfastly returned Hollow’s gaze. Their sister was perhaps a third of their height if she stood on the tips of her toes, but for all that she made no less of an imposing figure. That was the part of her that was wholly Deepnest -- wild, swift, and fiercely proud.

As the challenger, they bowed first. They brought their nail-hand up to their chest in a loose fist while their shield-hand remained open at their side. Keeping their back straight as a spear, they bent at the waist until their upper body was nearly at a right angle to their legs. Hollow remained that was for the space of one, two, three heartbeats before slowly rising to stand at their full height again.

She followed with the same gesture, every inch the princess-protector of the kingdom she had been raised to be. Hollow had always thought that, of all of them, she took the most after their sire. Each child of the Pale King was a worthy warrior in their own right, but she alone had inherited that natural air of command and detachment. At times it made her manner seem cold and merciless to those who did not know her, but Hollow had also been witness to loyalty and discipline that stemmed from the same source.

“Ghost?” she called as she stood once more. “Are you ready?”

To one side of the training field sat Ghost with Grimmchild laying in their lap. Behind them in the distance could be seen the faint lights from the windows of Dirthmouth like a great flock of lumaflies. The blanket they lay on was weighed down with stones. Several smaller ones were wrapped around their small shell in a cozy makeshift cocoon against the cold. They started slightly at Hornet’s call and instantly sat up straighter, as if they had been dozing off. 

Ghost scrabbled to their feet, holding Grimmchild like an oversized ragdoll. Bits of blanket were still hanging from their horns and shoulders like banners. They glanced between Hollow and Hornet for a moment before sticking up a thumb and nodding.

 _By your leave then, sleepy knight,_ Hollow laughed.

 _Not my fault you guys get up at old-people-time,_ Ghost replied as they jostled Grimmchild slightly and raised him above their head.

Hollow and Hornet drew their nail and needle as one, looking expectantly at their sibling. Ghost turned their head up and gave Grimmchild a light squeeze around the belly. From the little one’s maw came a belch of red flame that split the air like the setting sun. With that, their spar began.

She shot forward first, dust flying up in her wake. Hollow drew the flat of their nail up to deflect the point of her needle. They fell for her right feint, leaving their left side open for a smarting scratch against their side. They twisted in her direction as she flew by them and scarcely deflected a second strike aimed at their back.

"You will need to be quicker than that," she chided as she zipped backwards, "or you may as well concede now. Do not waste my time."

A stinging rebuke from anyone else, but for Hornet it was merely a statement of fact. Hollow nodded, barely a twitch of the head, before they were dashing in her direction.

Hornet was the swifter of the two of them, but Hollow was the stronger. They barreled toward her like a charging stag beetle, and their nail whistled through the air before them like a lance. Now it was her turn to twirl out of the way, but they would not let her go so easily this time.

Their shield hand thrust out towards her. Rather than snatching at her with their fingers, however, the black carapace of their melted and parted like oil by water. The roiling mass twisted upon itself into long and whipping tendrils. 

All this in the space of a heartbeat, and not even Hornet could evade the blow. She grunted as the tendrils pummeled at her, hard and rapidly enough to distract but not to harm her. In this manner Hollow attempted to disarm her, or to at least loosen her hold on the needle. Yet she held fast and flew back again until she was out of their reach.

“That is hardly considered fairplay in a duel of nails,” she said. “One might even consider it cheating.” Yet there was unmistakable pride in her voice, and Hollow thought they saw the most distant glimmer of a smile in her eyes. “Keep at it. We might make a decent fighter of you yet!”

Hollow’s eyes narrowed in mirth even as their nail and her needle clashed once more.

The two of them went back and forth in the same manner for several minutes. One would gain the advantage, then the other. Soon both were sporting a generous spotting of tears in their cloaks and scratches upon their shells. There had been an unspoken agreement at the beginning that neither would make use of magic, only blades and spidersilk and void-formes. Yet even that was quickly forgotten in a feverish exchange of Hollow’s seven-fold daggers and Hornet’s spike clusters.

For all that both could be ruthless in their aim for a victory, their spar was less a test of skill and more a time of play. Little time had the two ever spent in one another’s company in the short years before the fall of the kingdom. Little love had they had for one another, either, though there had been no malice between them. So they made the most of every moment given to them now. For they were each other’s kin by choice as much as by blood, and they had never had so much _fun_ in all their lives.

Hollow had harried at Hornet for several rounds now, wearing her down. Their sister could never be made ungraceful or careless, but she could be slowed down. More and more of their blows glanced off her shell than her needle. Less and less time elapsed between the onset of Hollow’s strikes and the moment she was able to block them.

Their victory was close now. They had only to wait for the opening they had been angling for all this while.

Once more they parted, and once more they closed in on one another. Hollow veered aside to avoid the latest shower of spikes. Even as they dodged the projectiles, however, they summoned another volley of their own to drive Hornet in the same direction. 

She sprinted forward in their wake. There were scarce inches between the sharp-edged daggers and herself, but still she doggedly maintained those inches. Even so, she was so wholly focused on fleeing that she forgot her opponent for the briefest of moments. A moment was all that Hollow needed.

Again they veered sharply, but now into the very path of the needles they had been dodging scarce seconds before. Hollow bore themself forward with their head tilted back and their body near-parallel to the ground. Straight as an arrow they sliced through the air, needle held out before them, as they flew right for Hornet. 

Time slowed, then stilled. Hornet’s head turned in their direction, too late to fight or flee. The distance closed between them as a crashing wave before the still and defenseless shore. Hollow’s nail drove home aimed square at the hilt of her needle. Ready to disarm her, ready to _win_ \--

Blinding white bloomed before them. Hollow skidded to a halt, dazed in an instant. Their nail clattered to the ground as they brought their arms up to shield their eyes. Yet the light seemed to pierce through their carapace, through memory and the long years themselves--

_“Heed me now, vessel.”_

_Their sire stood before them on the airy balcony. His sparkling wings were fully outstretched, haloing Hallownest’s King in an almost holy light. His gaze commanded Hollow’s own fully and completely. They could not turn away, nor did they wish to do so._

_“You are my knight,” he proclaimed. “The silver seed of my beloved Root, the culmination of all my research, and the zenith of our shared glory.”_

_A pale hand gently grasped Hollow’s chin, tilting the young vessel’s face upward. It was all they could do to keep from trembling, and they basked in his light as a sapling reaching for the sun._

_“You are my perfect weapon, the hope of this kingdom and its people. Still, our work is not done.” He pulled back then and turned for the door. “Your power is nascent yet, and our time is short.”_

_He reached out to them again, fingers outstretched and palm turned upward. He nodded at them, and after a moment Hollow understood it as a command to take the proffered hand. They hesitated only a moment before taking it, their shiny black carapace in stark contrast to the lustrous white of the King’s own. Their little feet tapped lightly on the floor he led them away._

_“Come. Sir Hegemol and Sir Ogrim awaits us at the training salle. The real work will begin with them.”_

Hollow came back to themself in a rush of heat. They exhaled harshly as red fire billowed around their shell, scorching hot yet never quite touching them. They could just barely hear Grimmchild’s cackling above the roar of the flames. 

Nor were they given time to make sense of the sudden turn of events. Something like rope bound itself around them. The bonds tightened until Hollow was forced to curl in on themself. They fell to the ground in a heap, coughing as dust choked them.

The cold tip of a needle tapped between their horns. Hollow’s eyes rolled up to see Hornet standing above them. In one hand she held her needle, and in the other she held the free end of the spidersilk with which she had bound them up. Her expression was stern as ever, but there was no mistaking the smugness in her giggle.

“I win,” she said even as she loosened her hold on them.

“You… cheated…” Hollow huffed as they wiggled free of the bindings. They rolled onto their back with a sigh where they lay.

“There is no ‘cheating’ in a real fight,” she countered as she came to sit beside them. “Only victory or death.”

“Death! Death!” Grimmchild chirped as he plopped himself squarely on Hollow’s chest.

“In any case, you must always be prepared to be outnumbered and outmaneuvered,” she went on. “Do not be too cross with the two of them. They were rather desperate to contribute to today’s sparring session in whatever way we might let them. And you must admit they were rather clever about it, even if it resulted in your defeat.”

 _Yeah, did you see us?_ Ghost piped up as they sat down near Hollow’s opposite shoulder. They waved their arms as they recounted the closing moments of the spar. _You were going at Hornet like_ nyoom! _And then I came up with my wings like_ fwoosh! _And then you were like_ ‘aaaaaaah’ _and then Grimmchild got you like_ ‘nyeh!’

 _Yes, yes, I saw,_ Hollow shushed them with a gentle pat on the head. _Or I might have seen it if the two of you had not thoroughly blinded me just now. If I ever have full use of my eyes again, it shall be a miracle._

 _Can you see me now?_ they piped up, leaning over Hollow’s face with scarcely a hair’s breadth between them. _Huh, can you?_

 _Yes, and if you were any closer, you would be me,_ Hollow sighed as they flicked Ghost between the eyes.

 _Ow!_ Ghost rubbed at their face as they too flopped onto their back.

“I think Hollow might have the right idea,” Hornet sighed as leaned back to lay on the ground as well. She crossed her arms under her head for a pillow and turned her gaze up to the brightening sky. “A rest is in order. We have had a busy day already, and it is scarcely midmorning.”

Silence spread between them as they all settled into a doze. Yet in spite of their sparring and their beloved company, Hollow’s mind would not rest. Even as they tried to banish him, the memory of their sire on the balcony kept coming back. Troubled thoughts followed them as weariness finally dragged them into another uneasy sleep.

* * *

Hollow dreamed of ballrooms high and spacious, of shells painted and glittering. 

At the height of Hallownest’s power, the great eastern halls of the capital city had been _the_ scene for all the kingdom’s elite. Parties began long before dusk and lasted well after dawn. Dinner tables and dance floors were the battlefields of merchants and officials alike, the drama of their politicking worthy of an opera. The guards kept all but the elite out of that part of the city. In that way, the rich and noble were allowed to play their games of power and vanity in their high towers undisturbed.

Hollow stood at attention in one such high-caste playground, just to the right of the dais at the back of the room. _The Amethyst Chamber_ it was called. An apt name for the sheer amount of _purple_ that stained the curtains of the walls and the upholstery of the chairs and benches. Even the marble floors had been stained a deep plum color to match. 

To Hollow it reminded them of so much dried blood. They longed for the clean white halls of the palace and the solitude of its gardens. Yet they had been sent here on their sire’s business, and here they would remain until he called them back. The King’s wish was their life’s purpose to fulfill, but waiting upon Lurien was the least pleasurable of the tasks that entailed. 

No one could deny the Watcher was a loyal and dedicated bug. He was the architect and warden of Hallownest’s heart, chief among his monarch’s retainers. All of the City of Tears was a monument to his fealty from its lowest waterway to its highest turret. Lurien was the King’s man in every sense of the word -- and Hollow did not care for him at all.

“Vessel,” he said, snapping his fingers before pointing at the opposite end of the hall. “Our esteemed guest is arriving. Escort him in.”

Vessel. From their father or mother, the name was simply that: a name. One Hollow wore with love and honor. From any other (and most especially from those of the inner court like Lurien), the name was not a name but a word, and that word made them feel little more than a piece of the King’s property. An “it,” not a “they.” An automaton to be ordered about, having no more personage than a pretty vase set upon a pedestal.

When others looked upon Hollow, they saw only an extension of their sire. On some level, Hollow knew they should have carried that regard with pride. For had the Pale King not named them their perfect weapon, their kingdom’s hope? Still it was not enough, and they would never be able to give voice to such thoughts.

After all, they had no mind to think, and what right did Hollow have to think of themself as a person anyway?

The scarcest nod of acknowledgement, and Hollow strode towards the great doors to do as Lurien bid. They looked neither right nor left as they strode down the central aisle. Indistinct muttering reached their ears as nobles and merchants broke off their conversations to briefly stare after them. Seldom did the King’s famed Hollow Knight come walking from the palace grounds, and who would _not_ stop a moment to gawk at it, given a chance?

On either side of them were long tables laden just short of collapsing with all the food the kingdom had to offer. Fresh, dewy leaves from Greenpath. Shrooms and lichens of a thousand flavors from the Fungal Wastes. Dripping golden honey from the cathedrals of the Hive. Freshly roasted boofly from the pasture-caverns at Kingdom’s Edge. Even lifeblood, precious cyan and taboo in more than a few circles, was kept in sparkling decanters.

Hollow already knew who it was that awaited them at the entrance to the hall. They had known without looking, before Lurien had even given the command. For beyond the pact they had made with him, how could the Nightmare King of all bugs resist the opportunity to make such a grand entrance?

In addition to his normal dress, Grimm was all but dripping with various gold accoutrement. Three bands covered each horn of his crest. Delicate chains were strung between upon tiny hooks and swayed with each step he took. Similar bands set with vibrant pink tourmalines hung from his wrists. At his temple lay something like a diadem, the center jewel cut in the likeness of a third eye. Even his face had been painted with delicate gold lines in flame-like patterns.

Decadent and gaudy even by noble standards, but a striking figure nonetheless as he stood tall and poised at the door. Even Hollow had to admit that he drew the eye and kept it, and he looked very much the avatar of a god. Hollow, of course, would would stab themself through the throat before admitting as much aloud. If the bug’s ego was inflated much more, he was likely to burst into pieces and make an unholy mess to clean up after. At least his viscera would blend in with the decor.

Hollow did not miss, nor did Grimm bother to hide, the slow and assessing movement of his gaze up their body. It felt like walking by a burning hearth upon a winter’s night. For a moment his eyes were like the warmth of a fire, chasing away the chill of Hollow’s loneliness even as it threatened to singe them. They hid their flush behind sigh as they strode up to him. 

“Good evening, my friend,” he purred, bowing slightly at the waist to the other. “My, my, but you do look _stunning_ in formal attire.”

“It is the very same as when you first came trespassing in my dreams,” Hollow replied flatly even as they bowed in turn.

“For Heart’s sake, _do_ learn to take a compliment,” Grimm said, poking them between the eyes. “Especially as I do not give them often or lightly.”

“Oh, I am so very flattered.” They shook their head and backed away a step.

“You should be.” He walked up alongside Hollow. Pausing, he glanced at Hollow expectantly from the corner of his eyes. “Well? I hope I do not have to reteach good manners to you all night long. Be a proper escort and offer me your arm, won’t you?”

“I would, but then I would never be able to ise it again. I would have to tear it off afterward -- _again_ \-- and my sibling worked very hard to make the one I have now.”

“Indulge me, Hollow,” Grimm insisted, not rising to the bait. “ _Please_.”

A groan died a rattling death in their chest. Their head turned pointedly in the other direction, but still they held their arm out. Hands, warm as banked coals, settled on their forearm.

“There. Now was that so hard?” 

“I hate you.”

The two of them walked the way Hollow had come before. Yet as was the way of things when the Nightmare King walked their dreams, their setting quickly changed. The purples of the Amethyst Chamber faded and swirled as paint in water. Purple lightened to lavender, then a blushing pink, and then to palest white.

Hollow craned their neck to see the vaulted ceiling of the White Palace. When they looked down again, it was to the sight of the grand ballroom sprawling out before them. Their reflections stood perfectly mirrored in the polished floor. Around them twirled dancing figures in a waltz, and further beyond retainers and nobles alike buzzed around the edges of the dance floor. Somewhere at the other end of the room, an orchestra of crickets was winding to the end of one song and beginning another.

“Your sire had his faults,” Grimm mused, grinning slightly, “but his galas were not among them. True, it is no circus tent nor an opera house, but a ballroom is as fine a stage as any.” 

He walked a step or two ahead and spread his arms as if he might embrace the whole ballroom. “And there is no feeling so invigorating as stealing the gaze of the crowd.” Grimm turned to look at Hollow over his shoulder. “Perhaps you will join me in the spectacle?”

“... I would rather not,” they replied after a moment, so quietly that they could almost not be heard over the orchestra.

“And why not? You are not lacking in grace or agility, and you are one of a few tall enough to lead me in a waltz.”

“I thought you were here to help me,” Hollow rumbled, “not waste my time showing off like a harlequin for a crowd of drunks.”

“Give my performances a bit more dignity than that, if you please,” Grimm sighed. “Moreover, I _am_ helping you. All work and no play makes for a dull bug, and all pain and no pleasure might break you. If all we dredge up of your past is the strife therein, we may as well be taking a knife to old wounds. A little dose of fun will not kill you.”

He looked pointedly up at them. “And you are dodging the question again.”

“I am not,” they bit back, sounding petulant even to their own ears. Hollow cast their gaze down to the floor. Their hands reached down to worry and wring at the edges of their cape. Their curled fists did little to hide the trembling in their digits.

“I… I simply do not wish to be made one. A spectacle, as you put it. They... The others already see me as an object to stare at and to whisper about. I do not want more of their attention than I already have.” Hollow curled their head tighter against their chest. 

“When I… When I look into their eyes, I see everything that I should have been. Empty, perfect, a weapon of my King and sire. I resent that they do not see me as anything more, and I resent myself for desiring that. For desiring anything at all…”

Hands -- warm, still so warm -- gently pried their fists loose. Fingers laced through their own. Hollow looked up to see Grimm carefully guiding their right hand to lay against the small of his back. Their left hand, he brought up to his face. Lightly, and ever so carefully, he laid the briefest of kisses against the back of their hand.

Hollow shivered slightly. To their own confusion, it was not in disgust for the way the other touched them.

“Then look through my eyes a moment, Hollow,” Grimm said softly, “and see yourself as you are. Look only at me. You need not fear the gaze of another.” 

Indeed, when Hollow glanced up again, they found the room to be empty. Only the two of them stood in the middle of the dance floor now. Slowly staring back down, they saw that Grimm was smiling that strangely gentle smile again. “I ask again: may I have this dance?”

Words choked in Hollow’s throat, and they did not trust themself to speak. They only nodded in assent. Unseen and disembodied the orchestra started up again, and their dance began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Finally moved into my new place, so now I have time to write again.
> 
> This chapter quickly got away from me as I was writing it, and what I had originally intended for one chapter turned out to be better split in two. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed some sibling bonding and ballroom shenanigans. c: As always, please leave a kudos and review to let me know what you thought!


	5. Taking the Lead Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimm and Hollow share a waltz in the halls of memory. Hollow begins to take agency for themself once more.

  


Ages had come and gone since the last time Hollow had danced a proper waltz. Rarely had they attended galas or balls, in the White Palace or elsewhere. Rarer still had been the occasions where they had actually been called upon to dance. Usually it had been at their father or mother’s request, wishing for their Hollow Knight to make an exhibition of their skill to the people.

Left foot forward, right foot to the side, then back together. Right foot back, left foot to the side, then together again. Back straight as an arrow, arm about their partner's lower back to support and to lead them. An old dance, one they knew as well as any of the old training sets their tutors drilled them in.

Grimm matched them step for step, beat for beat. All but leaping into Hollow’s arms when they lifted him. Twisting in tight circles as they spun him, his cape and jewelry miraculously never catching on their armor. He moved upon the dancefloor as he moved upon stage and battlefield. Flawlessly, beautifully, and full of that smug confidence only a diva such as himself could claim. 

He was more than a capable partner, perhaps the best Hollow had ever had. Yet if anyone had been there to witness their dance, it would have been Grimm and not Hollow who commanded their gaze. There was something about the god that drew the eye, least of all to do with the chains and gems with which he adorned himself. No, it was all in that predator’s grace as he moved, the hellfire in his eyes. The unspoken promise that he would take and devour the heart of all who gazed upon him -- and they would thank him for the opportunity.

For all that they were taking the lead, they could not help the sinking feeling that they were simply a footnote in his greater work. They were as much an accessory to his performance as the diadem that sparkled at his temple. In that sense, their situation now was not so terribly different from their old life in the White Palace. An ornament for one god and a weapon for another. 

So why did something that had felt like an honor from their sire and dame feel like such an indignity from Grimm? Hollow realized, in a moment that brought them as much clarity as it did confusion, that there was no difference in the two circumstances. To be an ornament or to be a weapon was the same thing in the end, and to be either was not to be a person at all.

“Where _did_ you learn to dance?”

Grimm’s question broke them from their thoughts. They tilted their head at him, bemused at first.

“Really, I am genuinely curious,” he continued. “Waltzing and other such courtly graces are hardly prerequisites for someone training to become a living vessel for a god.” He chuckled and winked up at Hollow. “Even if said vessel is all but a prince in their own right.”

“I learned because my sire wished me to learn,” they replied simply. When that got an unimpressed, deadpan in return, they huffed before elaborating. “The purpose for which I was created was an unorthodox one, and so my education was just as unorthodox. My sire wished me to excel in all things he deemed worthy of pursuit. Nailplay, magecraft, meditation, and even ‘courtly graces,’ as you put it.

“I am -- _was_ \-- his knight. Not a mere guard or retainer, but something above and between those two functions. To be discourteous, brusque, or otherwise lacking in manners to his subjects would have reflected badly upon me and, by extension, him.”

“Yet you have no such reservations with me.” Grimm rolled his eyes and shook his head impatiently. “Moreover, I asked you _where_ you learned to dance, not _why_.”

“A wonder you do not already know, considering how freely you rifle through my mind and memories.” 

As the song lulled into silence and the first round of the waltz ended, Hollow paused in their steps. Grimm halted when they did, ever the courteous dance partner. Hollow did not speak for some time as their thoughts turned inward. Only when the next song began and their feet began to move of their own accord did they continue.

“Lady Ze’mer was my tutor in such things,” they said, voice a little quieter now as they reminisced. “Ironic, perhaps, as of the Great Knights she spent the least time in the Pale Court. She was always lauded as the picture of serenity and grace, the most beautiful among them.” 

In spite of themself, Hollow could not suppress an old fondness for her in their tone. “But I remember her most, I think, for her kindness and patience. Her speech was always gentle, even when correcting me on some matter of etiquette or a dance form. I looked forward to my lessons with her almost as much as I looked forward to my lessons in magecraft with my father.”

“I can see that,” Grimm mused, words taking on a teasing note. “You speak of her as one might speak of an old and dear friend. Perhaps even as one might speak of… an old _infatuation_?”

“It was nothing of the sort!” Hollow denied a bit too quickly. They could feel the heat rushing to their cheeks, and they shook their head to be rid of it. “She was many years my senior, and even if we had been contemporaries, I would never have been her type.

“Moreover, only two things could have ever truly possessed her heart: her duty to her liege and kingdom and her beloved Lasiae.” Hollow sighed. “It was only the first that kept her living when she was denied the second. I hope she found peace in the end...”

At that moment they pulled away from one another, only their joined hands keeping them from parting altogether. Yet when they should have come back together to begin the cycle of the waltz once more, Grimm put a touch more momentum in his step as he returned. He turned upon his heel so that, when he at last stopped, stood with his back to Hollow’s front.

Hollow’s back strained slightly as they fought to keep from falling over, as much from surprise as from Grimm’s weight leaning against them. Their legs nearly failed them altogether when he lifted their hands, still fast entwined, to his mouth. He did not kiss Hollow’s hand this time but merely held it against his face, eyes closed. In a gesture entirely too slow and tender for the god, he nuzzled back and forth across the back of their hand.

“I would not mourn her overmuch. Love makes fools of us all, from mortal to god.” He rumbled against Hollow’s carapace, all but purring as he trailed a little further to their wrist. The sound seemed to echo up their arm and straight to their chest. They did not care for the way it made their heart suddenly stutter.

“It is both a blessing and a curse,” Grimm continued, “and not one that all are lucky to be granted in their lifetime. Given the choice to relive it again, I do not think she would make even one alteration in her course.”

“And--” It took everything in Hollow not to shiver as he touched them. “And how exactly can you be sure? I can hardly believe that the two of you were regular correspondents of any sort.”

“Mm, but you do have a sharp wit when you care to brandish it,” Grimm laughed. “You were not the only one to watch the little knight in their journey, though my report would be less complete than your own. My kin regularly reported back to me on their whereabouts as well as my son’s progress.

“They delighted most in telling me the tale of the little ghost as they attempted to deliver a finicky bit of flora from your old teacher’s estate to her lover’s grave.” His cerise eyes were all but sparkling in mirth as he looked up at Hollow. ‘Attempted’ being the operative word here, you understand. It took them a good four-hundred-and-twenty ventures through Hallownest before they succeeded.”

He had the good grace to look chagrined as he continued. “Granted, my son had a direct hand in the failure of two-hundred-and-twenty-four of those attempts. He was teething then, you see, and quite determined to cut his little fangs on anything and everything. Including the rather… _explosive_ denizens of Fog Canyon.”

“Why do I not have a difficult time believing that? A wonder he did not bring the whole place down on top of them.” Hollow shook their head before spinning the other around to them again. Once more the two of them resumed their dance. “He is most certainly your son.”

“You make that sound like a _crime_.”

“Your _existence_ is a crime.”

“That sister of yours has certainly had some influence on you,” Grimm sighed. “You know, a little _civility_ would be nice for a change, and it would not hurt you in the least. Will you not trust in me? Have I not sufficiently proven my good intentions to you by now?”

“Do not mistake my tolerance for a complete leave of my senses,” Hollow countered, pulling back to twirl the other through a pirouette. “You have already admitted to your own reasons for helping me, the hunger and selfishness that lies behind your kindness. You will forgive me if I am not ready to throw all caution to the wind where you are concerned.”

“Fair enough, my friend, and you would be a fool not to sleep with one eye open about me and my kin.” A smirk quirked at the corners of his mouth. “But that bristling hatred, that particular animosity that you keep sharp and ready just for me… That still puzzles me.”

“I do not see why. Ever have other higher beings like yourself vied to wrest control of this land from my father and mother. And always the mortals of this land suffer in the strife that follows. The likes of you would even gnaw the bones of Hallownest until there is nothing left. Or did you think I had forgotten how your son was conceived?”

“If you are seeking an apology for my nature, you will not get one. Gods must eat, same as mortals, and even we long for children. Will you fault me for such desires, such needs? Hypocritical, if you ask me, since your lineage is guilty of the same sins as myself.” Grimm cast a shrewd look his way. “And would you hold the circumstances of my son’s birth against him?”

Their head jerked back. They were struck dumb for a moment, but only for a moment. Something burned in their chest, sudden and angry. How _dare_ he?

“We are speaking of you, not your son or my kin,” Hollow replied in a warning tone. They swung Grimm back until the two of them were pressed together, chest-to-chest. Their eyes narrowed slits as they glared down at him, and their hold on him tightened. “Do not use them as a weapon against me, even in words of jest. If you care for your own safety, you will not test me in this, Nightmare King.”

For once, he was stunned into silence. His mouth was held slightly agape as the shorter bug stared up at them. Hollow thought they even saw the slightest flush on his pale face. Yet they were never sure, for the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Almost as swiftly as Grimm himself as he slipped out of Hollow’s arms, and they let him go with no resistance.

The music abruptly fell into silence, as if the unseen musicians had fled away with Grimm and his playful mood. He spared them a glance over his shoulder before snarling and striding away. He made a beeline for the doors that opened onto the balcony at the far end of the ballroom. Still incensed, Hollow followed on his heels.

“Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?” they called after him.

“If I had something to say, then I would have said it!”

“If you are truly at a loss for words, then you might start with an apology!”

“Did I not just tell you that I will not apologize for my nature?” Grimm growled as he stalked out onto the balcony. He took the marbled balustrade in a deathgrip as he glared pointedly out upon the misted grounds surrounding the White Palace.

“That is not what I meant and you know it, you numbskulled bastard of an arsonist,” Hollow seethed as they came to stand at a distance beside him. “While you might enjoy bantering at my expense, _I_ do not. You say you wish to help me, and yet you find some way to belittle or insult me at every opportunity. I…” 

The anger fled them then as they leaned against the railing, weariness taking its place. “I do not know what you think such baiting will gain you, but I can assure that you are falling quite short of whatever twisted goal you have.”

Again the conversation died between them. Hollow stood and turned abruptly on their heel, back towards the door. Fine then, if he refused to make amends, they had no obligation to stay for his stubborn pride and silence. Yet they had gone no more than a step when he called to them again.

“... I am sorry, Hollow.”

That got their attention. When they glanced up at him, he still did not meet their gaze. Instead his eyes were trained firmly upon what must have been a very interesting crack in the masonry in front of him.

“Pardon?” Hollow said, not believing their ears.

“I said I am sorry!” Grimm hissed, flames sputtering from the corners of his mouth as he jerked his head in the other direction. “There are... a number of things I intend to come from our little _tête-à-têtes_ , but wounding you is not one of them. For that much at least, I _do_ apologize.”

Well. That was unexpected from him.

“It is accepted then,” they replied, unable to summon up the vitriol they had borne a moment ago. “In my own turn, I apologize for my own harsh words. That is not to say--” They held up a hand when Grimm suddenly glanced at them over his shoulder. “--that I entirely trust you, nor do I think I ever will. But thus far you have been more or less true to your word, and good faith deserves good faith in return.

“So I will make a bargain with you, Grimm. If we are to make…” Hollow gestured to the empty air. “...whatever you call this arrangement work, then there must be a change. No more going at one another’s throats. No more barbs or insults from either of us, veiled or otherwise, save if one of us is the first to break this truce.”

To Hollow’s own surprise, they meant it, too. They extended a hand in his direction. He turned and looked at it dumbly, then up at him.

“Do you accept my apology and my bargain, Nightmare King?” Hollow asked.

Several moments passed as Grimm continued to stare at them. They held his gaze the whole time. It took an effort not to laugh to see the vanity and pride in his eyes fighting a losing battle with his better sensibilities, or to see the odd grimace upon his lips. At last he reached out, however, and firmly took the proffered hand.

“Accepted.” He all but ground out the word, but it would have to be enough for Hollow. Grimm cast them another thoughtful look. 

”Your silence on the subject of my son is noted, however,” he rumbled petulantly, smoothing over the hem of his cape with his free hand.

“A fool you might not call me, but I might call _you_ one now.” Hollow’s tone was exasperated as they let the other go. “I love Grimmchild, as much as if he were my own by birth. Why else would it offend me to think you would use him to twist my words? And, after all...” 

Hollow could not hide the smugness in their tone as they trailed off. “I believe it was you who said that ‘no child should have to carry the sins of their father.’ Am I wrong?”

Again Grimm turned to stare at him dumbly. Again a flush, brief as embers blown from a hearth, graying his face. He puffed up slightly, for a moment looking like the spitting image of Grimmchild about to release a volley of flame in a tantrum.

“Stay true to your bargain, Hollow,” he hissed. “I will not turn my belly up only for you to use my own words against me.”

“That is fair enough,” they relented. “Moreover, I believe you and I still have business to attend to, do we not?”

“We do,” Grimm replied, “but as refreshing as your willingness to participate is, I think not.” He sighed and shrugged. “Control and poise are paramount in the healing of another’s psyche. As lovely as this evening and your company have been, I am not in the proper state of temper, much less of mind, that sort of work requires. Better to part now than to cause you further hurt tonight, unintentioned or otherwise.

“So rejoice,” he chuckled, flashing Hollow a toothy grin, “you are spared another evening in the mawlek’s pit.”

“I… Thank you?” Hollow replied, caught somewhere between bemusement at the other’s sudden about-face and relief they would not have to relive another trauma this night.

“You are most welcome,” he replied, taking Hollow’s hand in his for a last and brief kiss. “And a most talented dancer as well. The most capable partner I have ever had, really.” He bowed at the waist, his jewels and chains twinkling as much as his gaze. “Dream no more, Hollow. Good night.”

Grimm’s form drifted away like so much mist, and the dreamscape began to fade away shortly after. They delicately touched their fingers to the place where he had kissed their hand, still warm even after he had gone.

“Good night, Grimm,” they whispered into the silence as oblivion took them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing art of Grimm in his fancy ballroom duds by [inkbarista](https://inkbarista.tumblr.com/)! Hands down my favorite Grimm artist and one of my fave HK fanartists in general. Give them a follow and support their work!
> 
> At this point this fic is definitely going to be longer than the eight chapters I originally planned for it, so buckle in for the ride, folks.
> 
> Once again, your kudos and comments mean the world to me, so leave one if you have a moment! Thank you so much, and I hope the fic continues to please. c:

**Author's Note:**

> "[text]" - spoken dialogue  
>  _[text]_ \- thoughts/Void-speech  
>  _"[text]"_ \- sign language


End file.
